-
Impostor Syndrome
I have two people in my family who are professional artists (painters). Â One of them is… very average (she makes paintings that I could recreate, and I am absolutely not competent in visual arts). Â One of them is extremely talented (she makes paintings I couldn’t even begin to understand the skills behind and feel I am only skimming the surface with my big, clumsy, non-artist brain trying to begin to identify the technique involved in what she creates), and considers herself a skilled, successful, professional artist. The first person (average) is prolific (makes multiple paintings a day) and “successful” (sells her paintings regularly, has a large community of fans of…
-
Recursive First Drafts
I know S doesn’t like the “Shitty First Drafts” idea, so this is for you, S.  🙂  I recently read an article by an author who is absolutely not on board with the whole “Shitty First Drafts” idea that is so common among authors.  It was first attributed to Hemingway who said, “The first draft of anything is shit.”  Then it was expanded by Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird where she said that the first draft is like letting a child play, it is unconstrained, just ideas flowing onto the page. Now, this other author says that this is all fine and good and that most authors agree with this particular…
You May Also Like
Broken Toys
-
Bad News
I got some bad news yesterday. Â And some bad possibility that won’t be answered for a few more days. Â And… I just… I just can’t. I didn’t post last night. I should do a back post tonight to make up for it. But I can’t.
You May Also Like
Broken Toys
-
Output
I’m having a less than easy night. Â It’s not terrible – certainly not by the bar set by multiple nights this summer – but not… great. I think it’s depression, or at least the leading edge of a depression front. Sir thinks that possibly my feeling is akin to burnout (and potentially that’s enough to tip my bipolar back towards depression) because I’ve been… outputting intensely for several days and likely not getting enough inputting.
You May Also Like
Broken Toys
-
Fog
It’s Friday night… it was a long week. It’s been a long summer. I’m tired. Literally. My brain is exhausted. Â Bipolar has been running wild and dancing naked with anxiety and my brain is wearing out… which is not a great thing. Â My sleep has been improving but it’s not perfect, and not enough to help my brain yet.
-
Post-anxiety Anxiety
Because anxiety is a spoiled asshole and isn’t satisfied with only appearing in anticipation of and participation in events, it must also throw itself into the aftermath of events. So… I rode the light rail today. Â It was very stressful, but mostly only in my mind, because in reality it was extremely easy, I had no problems, the things I anticipated being challenging… weren’t… the only issue I had was finding the right floor and room for my conference (stupid giant hotels with terrible signage). Â The conference was fine. Â Getting back home was fine, other than getting seasick (trainsick?) Everything was fine. Â I had plenty of time, everything was easy…
You May Also Like
Broken Toys
-
Adventure
Anxiety doesn’t believe in adventure. Â Adventure is not something that exists, because adventure requires not knowing what will happen next, doing something you’ve never done before… Â But with anxiety, that isn’t adventurous, it’s torture to be avoided at all costs. Tomorrow I have to ride the light rail to downtown (public transportation). Â I have ridden the light rail a grand total of twice in my life, and both were with S, and S is all competent and knows where to stand and which platform and how to get tickets and when to get off. Â I just had to follow along. Now, I have to do it alone. Â Tomorrow.
You May Also Like
Broken Toys
-
The Edge
My fingers move over the keys, not typing, just moving because… I have to move. My legs are twitching, my eyes are too wide, I can feel it but I can’t stop. The depression has been ice in my veins, lead shot in my limbs, defeat, sloth. But now it has been enervated like Frankenstein’s monster, a lightning storm in my brain that gave it a hideous semblance of life. Now it is restless movement, snapping temper, too much light, too much sound… too much… too much… touch… get my fucking clothes off of me NOW!
You May Also Like
Broken Toys
-
Fear
I had a few better days. Today was… shaky, and tonight it’s falling apart. I had therapy today and it was a particularly tough therapy day. We talked about writing, and talked about what Sir and I talked about the other night and… what I wrote, and my feelings, and what’s happening with my depression and my writing and my bipolar… I’m supposed to try to develop softness towards my fear. We identified that I’m afraid of writing, maybe afraid of seeing myself… because writing is… who I am inside, and I’m afraid of seeing that, and the fear is creating the wall, and if I soften to the fear…
-
Shitty First Drafts #2
Her ears are filled with the soft hum of the old computer tower, the susurration of traffic in the distance, and the rustle of the curtains as cold air whispers from the vent. Â And then with his voice, soft, gentle, but with an iron core of command. “Why? Â Tell me why.” “Because…” “Write it.”